Thunder and Rain
by gjnnypotter
Summary: What happened after Harry left Dumbledore’s office? The aftermath of the Battle of the Department of Mysteries.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I won't lie though when I say I wish I did every day :)**

The door to the office closed behind him with a firm thud, blocking out the dulcet murmurs of the portraits. Harry walked swiftly down the spiralling staircase. He had to get away. He couldn't bring himself to sit for one more moment in the tense silence that had descended upon himself and his headmaster. He stepped off of the staircase, out into the empty corridor. Everyone was in the Great Hall for breakfast, and Harry couldn't be more relieved. He knew he looked a state. His face was white as a sheet and his clothes were dirtied and torn from the scuffle in the ministry. If anyone saw him now, who knew what kind of rumours would fly around - not that he cared about them really.

Sirius is dead.

The thought hit him from nowhere and it felt like he had been punched. Hard. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, his breathing gradually becoming more and more unsteady.

It's my fault.

He needed to get away. To leave. To go somewhere where nobody could find him. He didn't want to be found. He needed to be alone. He had to be. It was necessary.

Before he knew it, his feet started to carry him away. He wasn't thinking straight. He walked as fast as he could, shoulders hunched and hands shoved deep into his pockets. Everything was a blur - the walls around him closing in.

If he had just listened to Hermione then this wouldn't have happened. If he had just taken a moment to think about what the implications of running off to London would be, then this wouldn't have happened. If he had realised it was all a set up, a trap, then this wouldn't have happened.

He'd still have his godfather.

The guilt was overwhelming. He felt like he was drowning in it, falling slowly down into a deep abyss with no hope of ever emerging.

Harry looked up and saw that he was standing in entrance to the owlery, of all places. Soft hoots and twitters greeted him but he barely noticed. His thoughts were racing and whirring around his head.

The draughts coming in from the glassless windows ruffled his hair, making it messier than it had been before. Harry walked over and sat himself gently of the window ledge - leaning against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest. The morning sun bathed him in an orange glow, but it didn't seem to be able to dissipate cold feeling that had overrun him.

Harry had always liked it up here. It was quiet and secluded, and there was a brilliant view of the lake and the surrounding hills. The owlery brought with it a sense of calm. Of feeling of ease and tranquility as owls swooped in and out of the tower. Over the years, Harry had loved coming up to say hello to Hedwig - and in recent years, to give her a letter to send off to his long lost godfather.

He wouldn't be able to do that again.

Harry took in a shaky breath and bit his trembling lip. He didn't cry though. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He had come close to doing so at the end of his fourth year, but he had never completely unraveled. There was a foreign lump at the back of his throat and any attempt to swallow it down didn't seem to do the job.

Harry shut his eyes tight and lowered his head to rest on his knees. His hands were shaking slightly as he clasped them around his legs. He felt isolated.

Neither can live while the other survives.

And there was that too. To just put the cherry on top of his burnt cake that was falling apart. Harry didn't want to believe it was true, however he knew deep down that the prophecy and it's contents weren't just a load of nonsense - even if he wasn't ready to accept that yet. He was only 15 for Merlin's sake! How the hell was he supposed to defeat a Dark Lord - a feat that Dumbledore himself couldn't even manage a few hours ago?

Kill or be killed. Perfect. Murder or be murdered. Just fantastic. Slaughter or be slaughtered. Bloody amazing.

Because that was his destiny. A curse he was born into. He didn't like either outcome. He didn't want to think about it. How could he ever hope to be normal, to live a normal life and to be a normal teenager when a death sentence was looming over him like a shadow.

Life just isn't fair.

It was funny how that didn't shock him anymore.

Harry gazed blankly out onto the grounds of Hogwarts, the place he called home, he saw other students walking across the grounds - enjoying the morning sun, laughing with each other. They were carefree, untroubled and happy.

Happy.

Because why should Harry's problems concern them? Why should they care about the death of the only father figure Harry could remember? Why should they care about Harry's decent into guilt and grief? And why, oh why should they care about Harry's future status of murderer or victim?

So Harry sat on the window ledge. Trapped in a vicious snare of self loathing and impeccable despair. The perfect blend.

And so minutes bled into hours. People came in and out throughout the morning, hastily leaving after glimpsing Harry's hunched form framed by the sun and blue sky. The perfect contrast to what he was feeling, for if the weather truly reflected his emotions there would be thunderstorms and gales. No sun. No blue skies. Just thunder and rain.


End file.
